words you would me write a message must I sende A wofull errande sure a wretched man must write A wretched tale a wofull head besemeth to endite For what can he but waile that hath but all he would And yet that all is nought at all but lacke of all he should But lacke of all his minde what can be greater greif That haue lacke that likes him best must neds be most mischief Now foole what maks thee waile yet some might saie full well That hast no harme but of thy self as thou thy self canst tell To whom I aunswere thus since all my harmes doe growe Vpon my self so of my self some happ maie come I trowe And since I see bothe happ and harme betids to me For present woe my after blisse will make me not forget thee Who hath a field of golde and maie not come therein Must liue in hope till he haue forse his treasure well to winne Whose ioyes by hope of dreade to conquere or to lose So greate a wealth doeth rise and for example doeth disclose To winne the golden flese stoode Iason not in drede Till that Medeas hope of helpe did giue hym hope to spede Yet sure his minde was muche and yet his feare the more That hath no happ but by your helpe maie happ for to restore The ragyng Bulls he dread yet by his Ladies charme He knewe it might be brought to passe thei could doe little harme Vnto whose grace yelde he as I doe offer me Into your hands to haue his happ not like hym for to be But as kyng Priamus did binde hym to the will. Of Cressed false whiche hym forsooke with Diomede to spill So I to you commende my faithe and eke my ioye I hope you will not be so false as Cressed was to Troye For if I be vntrue her Lazares death I wishe And eke to thee if I be false her clapper and her dishe Finis R. L. ¶ Beyng in trouble he writeth thus IN terrours trapp with thraldome thrust Their thornie thoughts to tast and trie In conscience cleare from case vniust With carpyng cares did call and crie And saied O God yet thou art he That can and will deliuer me Bis. Thus tremblyng there with teares I trodd To totter tide in truthes defence With sighes and sobbs I saied O God Let right not haue this recompence Lest that my foes might laugh to see That thou wouldest not deliuer me Bis. My soule then to repentaunce ranne My ragged clothes berent and torne And did bewaile the losse it wanne With lothsome life so long forlorne And saied O God yet thou art he That can and will deliuer me Bis. Then comfort came with clothes of ioye Whose semes were faithfull stedfastnesse And did bedecke that naked boye Whiche erst was full of wretchednesse And saied be glad for God is he That shortly will deliuer thee Bis. Finis T. M. ¶ Beyng troubled in mynde he writeth as followeth THe bitter sweate that straines my yelded harte The carelesse count that doeth the same embrace The doubtfull hope to reape my due desarte The pensiue path that guids my restlesse race Are at suche warre within my wounded brest As doeth bereue my ioye and eke my rest My greedie will that seks the golden gaine My luckles lot doeth alwaie take in worthe My mated mynde that dredes my sutes in vaine My piteous plaint doeth helpe for to set forthe So that betwene twoo waues of ragyng seas I driue my daies in troubles and desease My wofull eyes doe take their chief delight To feede their fill vpon the pleasaunt maze My hidden harmes that growe in me by sight With pinyng paines doe driue me from the gaze And to my hope I reape no other hire But burne my self and I to blowe the fire Finis I.H. ¶ Looke or you leape IF thou in suertie safe wilt sitt If thou delight at rest to dwell Spende no more words then shall seme fitt Let tonge in silence talke expell In all thyngs that thou seest men bent Se all saie nought holde thee content In worldly works degrees are three Makers doers and lookers on The lookers on haue libertie Bothe the others to iudge vpon Wherefore in all as men are bent Se all saie nought holde thee content The makers oft are in fault founde The doers doubt of praise or shame The lookers on finde surest grounde Thei haue the fruite yet free from blame This doeth persuade in all here ment Se all saie nought holde thee content The prouerbe is not South and West Whiche hath be saied long tyme agoe Of little medlyng cometh rest The busie man neuer wanteth woe The best waie is in all world 's sent Se all saie nought holde thee content Finis Iasper Haywood ¶ He bewaileth his mishappe IN wretched state alas I rewe my life Whose sorrowes rage torments with deadly paine In drowned eyes beholde my teares be rife In doubtfull state a wretche I must remaine You wofull wights enured to like distresse Bewaile with me my wofull heauinesse What stonie harte suche hardnes can retaine That sharpe remorse no rest can finde therein What ruthlesse eyes so carelesse can remaine That daiely teares maie pitie winne For right I seeke and yet renewe my sore Vouchsalfe at length my saftie to restore My loue is lost woe worthe in woe I dye Disdainfull harte doeth worke suche hatefull spite In losse of loue a wretche must ioye to dye For life is death now hope is banisht quite O death approche bereue my life from me Why should I liue opprest with woe to be Finis R. H. ¶ The complaint of a Synner O Heauenly God O Father dere cast doune thy tender eye Vpon a wretche that prostrate here before thy trone doeth lye O powre thy precious oyle of grace into my wounded harte O let the dropps of mercie swage the rigour of my smarte My fainting soule suppressed sore with carefull clogge of sinne In humble sort submitts it self thy mercie for to winne Graunt mercie then O sauiour swete to me moste wofull thrall Whose mornfull crie to thee O Lorde doeth still for mercie call Thy blessed will I haue despised vpon a stubborne minde And to the swaie of worldly thyngs my self I haue enclinde Forgettyng heauen heaueÌ„ly powers where God and saincts do dwel My life had likt to tread the path the leads the waie to hell But now my lorde my lode starre bright I will no more doe so To thinke vpon my former life my harte doeth melt for woe Alas I sigh alas I sobbe alas I doe repent That euer my licencious will so wickedly was bent Sith thus therefore with yernfull plain I doe thy mercie craue O Lorde for thy greate mercies sake let me thy mercie haue Restore to life the wretched soule that els is like to dye So shall my voyce vnto thy name syng praise eternally Now blessed be the Father first and blessed be the Sonne And blessed be the holie Ghoste by whom all thyngs are doen Blesse me O blessed Trinitie with thy eternall grace That after death my soule maie haue in heauen a dwellyng place Finis F.K. ¶ The fruite that sprynges from wilfull wites is ruthe and ruins rage And sure what heedelesse youth committes repentaunce rues in age I Rage in restlesse ruthe and ruins rule my daies I rue to late my rechlesse youthe by rules of reasons waies I ran so long a race in searche of surest waie That leasure learnde me tread the trace that led to leud decaie I gaue so large a raine to vnrestrained bitt That now with proofe of after paine I waile my want of witt I trifeled forthe the tyme with trust to self conceiptes Whilst pleÌ„ties vse prickt forth my prime to search for sugred baites Wherein once learnde to finde I founde so sweete a taste That dewe foresight of after speede self will estemed waste Whiche will through wilfulnesse hath wrought my witlesse fall And heedelesse youthes vnskilfulnesse hath lapt my life in thrall Whereby by proofe I knowe that pleasure breedeth paine And he that euill seede doeth sowe euill frute must reape againe Let suche therefore whose youth and pursses are in Prime Foresee shun the helplesse ruthe whiche fews misspence of time For want is nexte to waste and shame doeth synne ensue Euil speding proofe hath hedeles hast my self hath proued it true When neighbours next house burnes t is tyme thereof take hede For fortunes whele hath choise of turnes which change of chaÌ„ses breds My saile hath been aloft though now I beare but lowe Who clims to high selde falleth soft dedst ebbe hath highest flowe Finis ê™ Yloop. ¶ Imprinted at London by Henry Disle dwellyng at the Southwest doore of S. Paules Churche 1576.
loue and leaue is all that I entend And yf you prooue in part and finde my counsell true Then wyshe me well for my good wyll t is all I craue adewe Finis My lucke is losse The perfect tryall of a faythfull freend NOt stayed state but feeble stay Not costly robes but bare aray Not passed wealth but present want Not heaped store but sclender skant Not plenties purse but poore estate Not happy happe but froward fate Not wyshe at wyll but want of ioy Not harts good health but hartes annoy Not freedomes vse but prisons thrall Not costly seate but lowest fall Not weale I meane but wretched woe Dooth truely trye the freend from foe And nought but froward fortune proues Who fawning faines or simply loues Finis Yloop. No pleasure without some payne SWeete were the ioyes that both might like and last Strange were the state exempt from all distresse Happy the lyfe that no mishap should tast Blessed the chaunce might neuer change successe Were such a lyfe to leade or state to proue Who would not wyshe that such a lyfe were loue But O the sowry sauce of sweete vnsure When pleasures flye and flee with wast of winde The trustlesse traynes that hoping hartes allure When sweete delightes doo but allure the minde When care consumes and wastes the wretched wight Whyle fancy feedes and drawes of her delight What lyfe were loue yf loue were free from payne But O that payne with pleasure matcht should meete Why dyd the course of nature so ordayne That sugred sowre must sause the bitter sweete Which sowre from sweete might any meanes remoue What happe what heauen what lyfe were lyke to loue Finis E. S. 1. Our pleasures are vanities BEhold the blast which blowes the blossomes from the tree The end whereof consumes and comes to nought we see Ere thou therefore be blowen from life that may not last Begin for grace to call for time mispent and past Haue mind on brittle life whose pleasures are but vayne On death likewyse bethinke how thou maist not remaine And feare thy Lord to greene which sought thy soule to saue To synne no more be bent but mercie aske and haue For death who dooth not spare the kinges on earth to kill Shall reape also from thee thy pleasure life and will. That lyfe which yet remaynes and in thy brest appeares Hath sowne in thée sutch seedes you ought to weede with teares And life that shall succeede when death is worne and past Shall spring for euer then in ioy or paine to last Where death on life hath power ye see that life also Hath mowen the fruites of death which neuer more shall growe FINIS D. S. 2. M. Edwardes MAY. WHen MAY is in his prime then MAY eche hart reioyce When MAY bedeckes eche branch with greene eche bird streines forth his voyce The liuely sappe creepes vp into the bloming thorne The flowres which cold in prison kept now laughes the frost to scorne All natures Impes triumphes whyles ioyfull May dooth last When MAY is gone of all the yeere the pleasant time is past MAY makes the cherfull hue MAY breedes and bringes newe blood MAY marcheth throughout euery limme MAY makes the mery moode MAY pricketh tender hartes their warbling notes to tune Ful strange it is yet some wee see doo make their MAY in Iune Thus thinges are straungely wrought whyles ioyfull MAY doth last Take MAY in time when MAY is gone the pleasant time is past All ye that liue on earth and haue your MAY at wyll Reioyce in MAY as I doo now and vse your MAY with skill Vse MAY whyle that you may for MAY hath but his time When all the fruite is gone it is to late the tree to clime Your liking and your lust is freshe whyles MAY dooth last When MAY is gone of all the yeere the pleasaunt time is past Finis 3. Faire woordes make fooles faine IN youthfull yeeres when fyrst my young desyres began To pricke mee foorth to serue in Court a sclender tall young man. My Fathers blessing then I askt vpon my knee Who blessing me with trembling hand these woordes gan say to me My sonne God guide thy way and shielde thee from mischaunce And make thy iust desartes in Court thy poore estate to aduaunce Yet when thou art become one of the Courtly trayne Thinke on this prouerbe olde qd he that faire woordes make fooles faine This counsell grauely geuen most strange appeares to me Tyll tract of time with open eyes had made me plainely see What subtill sleightes are wrought by painted tales deuise When hollowe hartes with freendly shoes the simple doo entise To thinke al golde that shines to feede their fonde desire Whose shiuering cold is warmd with smoke in stead of flaming fire Sith talke of tickle trust dooth breede a hope most vaine This prouerbe true by proofe I finde that faire woordes make fooles faine Faire speache alway doeth well where deedes insue faire woordes Faire speache againe alway dooth euil that busshes geues for birdes Who hopes to haue fayre woordes to trye his luckie lot If I may counsel let him strike it whyle the iron is hotte But them that feede on cloddes in steade of pleasaunt grapes And after warning often geuen for better lucke still gapes Full loth I am yet must I tell them in woordes plaine This prouerbe old proues true in them that faire words makes fooles faine Wo woorth the time that woordes so slowly turne to deedes Wo worth the time that faire sweete floures are growē to rotten weedes But thrise wo woorth the time that trueth away is fled Wherein I see how simple hartes with woordes are vainely fed Trust no faire woordes therefore where no deedes doo ensue Trust words as skilful Falkeners doo trust Haukes that neuer flew Trust deedes let wodrdes be woordes which neuer wrough me gaine Let my experience make you wyse and let woordes make fooles faine M. Edwardes 4. In his extreame sycknesse What greeues my bones and makes my body faint What prickes my flesh and teares my head in twaayne Why doo I wake when rest should me attaynt When others laugh why doo I liue in paine I tosse I turne I change from side to side And stretche me oft in sorowes linkes betyde I tosse as one betost in waues of care I turne to flee the woes of lothsome lyfe I change to spie yf death this corps might spare I stretche to heauen to ridde me of this strife Thus doo I stretche and change and tosse and turne Whyle I in hope of heauen by life doo burne Then holde thee still let be thy heauinesse Abolishe care forgeat thy pining woe For by this meanes soone shalt thou finde redresse When oft betost hence thou to heauen must goe Then tosse and turne and tumble franke and free O happy thryse when thou in heauen shalt be Finis L. Vaux 5. For Christmas day Reioyce reioyce with hart and voyce In Christes birth this day
heart so neare the pith Except suche sâ—lue as when the Scorpion stinges I might receâ—ue to heale my wounde therewith In vaine for ease my tongue alwayes it ringes And I for paines shall pearish through her guilt That can reioyce to see how I am spilt Finis E. S. 35 Though Fortune haue sette thee on hie Remember yet that thou shalt die TO die Dame nature did man frame Death is a thing most perfect sure We ought not natures workes to blame Shee made nothing still to endure That lawe shee made when we were borne That hence we should retourne againe To render right we must not scorne Death is due debt it is no paine The ciuill lawe doth bidde restore That thou hast taken vp of trust Thy life is lent thou must therfore Repâ—y except thou be vniust This life is like a poynted race To the ende wherof when man hath trode He must returne to former place He may not still remaine abrode Death hath in all the earth aright His power is great it stretcheth farre No Lord no Prince can scape his might No creature can his duetie barre The wise the iust the strong the hie The chast the meeke the free of hart The rich the poore who can denie Haue yeelded all vnto his dart Could Hercules that tamde eache wight Or else Vlisses with his witte Or Ianus who had all foresight Or chast Hypolit scape the pitte Could Cresus with his bagges of golde Or Irus with his hungrie paine Or Signus through his hardinesse bolde Driue backe the dayes of Death againe Seeing no man then can Death escape Nor hire him hence for any gaine We ought not feare his carraine shape He onely brings euell men to paine If thou haue ledde thy life aright Death is the ende of miserie If thou in God hast thy delight Thou diest to liue eternallie Eache wight therefore while he liues heere Let him thinke on his dying day In midst of wealth in midst of cheere Let him accompt he must away This thought makes man to God a frend This thought doth banish pride and sinne This thought doth bring a man in th end Where he of Death the field shall win 39 All thinges ar Vaine ALthough the purple morning bragges in brightnes of the sunne As though he had of chased night a glorious conquest wonne The Time by day giues place againe to forse of drowsie night And euery creature is constraind to chaunge his lustie plight Of pleasures all that heere we taste We feele the contrary at laste In spring though pleasant Zephirus hath frutefull earth inspired And nature hath each bushe each branch with blossomes braue attired Yet fruites and flowers as buds and blomes full quickly witherd be When stormie Winter comes to kill the Somers iolitie By Time are gotte by Time are lost All things wherein we pleasure most Although the Seas so calmely glide as daungers none appeare And dout of stormes in skie is none king Phebus shines so cleare Yet when the boistrous windes breake out and raging waues do swel The seely barke now heaues to heauen now sinkes againe to hel Thus chaunge in euery thing we see And nothing constant seemes to bee Who floweth most in worldly wealth of wealth is most vnsure And he that cheefely tastes of ioy doth sometime woe indure Who vaunteth most of numbred frends forgoe them all he must The fairest flesh and liuelest bioud is turnd at length to dust Experience geues a certaine grounde That certen heere is nothing founde Then trust to that which aye remaines the blisse of heauens aboue Which Time nor Fate nor Winde nor Storme is able to remoue Trust to that sure celestiall rocke that restes in glorious throne That hath bene is and must be still our anker holde alone The world is but a vanitie In heauen seeke we our suretie Finis F. K. 37 A vertuous Gentle woman in the praise of his Loue. I Am a Virgine faire and free and freely doe reioyce I sweetely warble sugred notes from siluer voyce For which delightfull ioyes yet thanke I curtesie loue By whose allmightie power such sweete delites I proue I walke the pleasant fieldes adornd with liuely greene And view the fragrant flowres most louely to be seene The purple Columbine the Cousloppe and the Lillie The Violet sweete the Daizie and Daffadillie The Woodbines on the hedge the red Rose and the white And cache fine flowres else that rendreth sweete delite Among the which I choose all those of seemeliest grace In thought resembling them to my deare louers face His louely face I meane whose golden flouring giftes His euer liuing Fame to loftie skie vpliftes Whom louing me I loue onely for vertues sake When vertuously to loue all onely care I take Of all which freshe faire flowers that flowre that doth appeare In my conceit most like to him I holde so deare I gather it I kisse it and eake deuise with it Suche kinde of liuely speeche as is for louers fit And then of all my flowres I make a garland fine With which my golden wyer heares together I doe twine And sette it on my head so taking that delight That I would take had I my louer still in sight For as in goodly flowres myne eyes great pleasure finde So are my louers gyftss most pleasant to my minde Vpon which vertuous gyftes I make more sweete repast Then they that for loue sportes the sweetest ioyes doo tast Finis M. K. 38. Oppressed with sorowe he wysheth death IF Fortune may enforce the carefull hart to cry And griping greefe constrayne the wounded wight lament Who then alas to mourne hath greater cause then I Agaynst whose hard mishâ—p both Heauen and Earth are bent For whom no helpe remaynes for whom no hope is left From whom all happy happes is fled and pleasure quite bereft Whose lyfe nought can prolong whose health nought can assure Whose death oh pleasant port of peace no creature can procure Whose passed proofe of pleasant ioy Mischaunce hath chaunged to greefes anoy And loe whose hope of better day Is ouerwhelmd with long delay Oh hard mishap Eache thing I plainely see whose vertues may auayle To ease the pinching payne which gripes the groning wyght By Phisickes sacred skill whose rule dooth seldome fayle Through labours long inspect is playnely brought to lyght I knowe there is no fruite no leafe no roote no rynde No hearbe no plant no iuyce no gumme no mettal deepely mind No Pearle no Precious stone ne Ieme of rare effect Whose vertues learned Gallens bookes at lardge doo not detect Yet all theyr force can not appease The furious fyttes of my disease Nor any drugge of Phisickes art Can ease the greefe that gripes my hart Oh straunge disease I heare the wyse affyrme that Nature hath in store A thousand secrete salues which Wysdome hath outfound To coole the scorching heate of euery smarting sore And healeth deepest scarre though greeuous be the wound The auncient prouerbe sayes
nayd Well well let these with wisedomes passe be waide And in your chest of cheefest secreates laide What is or may be mine That is and shall be thine Till death the twist vntwine That doth our loues combine But if thy heart repine Thy body should be mine Shew me thereof some sine That I may slacke the line That knitts thy will to mine Finis My Lucke is losse 40 Donec eris Felix multos numerabis amicos Nullus ad amissus ibit amicus opes EVen as the Rauen the Crowe and greedie Rite Doe swarming flocke where carren corpes doth fall And tiring teare with beake and talentes might Both skin and fleshe to gorge their guttes withall And neuer cease but gather moe to moe Doe all to pull the carkase too and froe Till bared bones at last they leaue behinde And seeke elsewhere some fatter foode to finde Euen so I see where wealth doth waxe at will And Golde doth growe to heapes of great encrease There frendes resort and profering frendship still Full thicke they throng with neuer ceasing prease And stilie make a shew of true intent When nought but guile and inwarde hate is ment For when mischaunce shall chaunge such wealth to want They packe them thence to place of ritcher haunt Finis My Lucke is losse 41. What ioye to a contented mynde THe faithe that failes must nedes be thought vntrue The frende that faines who holdeth not vniust Who likes that loue that chaungeth still for newe Who hopes for truthe where trothe is voide of trust No faithe no frende no loue no trothe so sure But rather failes then stedfastly endure What head so staied that altereth not intent What thought so sure that stedfast doeth remaine What witte so wise that neuer nedes repent What tonge so true but sometyme wonts to faine What foote so firme that neuer treads awrie What soner dimde then fight of clerest eye What harte so fixt but some enclines to change What moode so milde that neuer moued debate What faithe so strong but lightly likes to range What loue so true that neuer learnde to hate What life so pure that lasts without offence What worldly mynde but moues with ill pretence What knot so fast that maie not be vntide What seale so sure but fraude or forse shall breke What prop of staye but one tyme shrinks aside What ship so stauche that neuer had a leke What graunt so large that no exception maks What hoped helpe but frende at nede forsaks What seate so high but lowe to grounde maie fall What hap so good that neuer founde mislike What state so sure but subiect is to thrall What force preuailes where Fortune liste to strike What wealth so muche but tyme maie turne to want What store so greate but wastyng maketh skant What profites hope in depth of dangers thrall What ruste in tyme but waxeth worse and worse What helpes good harte if Fortune froune withall What blessyng thriues gainst heauenly helples curse What winnes desire to get and can not gaine What botes to wishe and neuer to obtaine Finis My lucke is losse 42. Amantium irae amoris redintigratia est IN goyng to my naked bedde as one that would haue slept I heard a wife syng to her child that long before had wept She sighed sore and sang full sore to bryng the babe to rest That would not rest but cried still in suckyng at her brest She was full wearie of her watche and greued with her child She rocked it and rated it vntill on her it smilde Then did she saie now haue I founde the prouerbe true to proue The fallyng out of faithfull frends is the renuyng of loue Then tooke I paper penne and ynke this prouerbe for to write In regester for to remaine of suche a worthie wight As she proceded thus in song vnto her little bratte Muche matter vttered she of waight in place whereas she satte And proued plaine there was no beast nor creature bearyng life Could well be knowne to liue in loue without discorde and strife Then kissed she her little babe and sware by God aboue The fallyng out of faithfull frends is the renuyng of loue She saied that neither kyng ne prince ne lorde could liue aright Vntill their puissance thei did proue their manhode their might When manhode shal be matched so that feare can take no place Then wearie works makes warriours eche other to embrace And leaue their forse that failed thē whiche did consume the rout That might before haue liued their tyme and nature out Then did she syng as one that thought no man could her reproue The fallyng out of faithfull frendes is the renuyng of loue She saied she sawe no fishe ne foule nor beast within her haunt That mete a straunger in their kinde but could geue it a taunt Since fleshe might not indure but reste must wrathe succede And forse the fight to fall to plaie in pasture where thei feede So noble nature can well ende the works she hath begone And bridle well that will not cease her tragedy in some Thus in her songe she oft reherst as did her well behoue The fallyng out of faithfull frends is the renuyng of loue I meruaile muche pardy quoth she for to beholde the route To see man woman boy beast to tosse the worlde about Some knele some crouch some beck some check some cā smothly smile And some embrace others in armes and there thinke many a wile Some stande aloufe at cap and knee some humble and some stout Yet are thei neuer frends indeede vntill thei once fall out Thus ended she her song and saied before she did remoue The fallyng out of faithfull frends is the renuyng of loue M. Edwardes 43. Thinke to dye THe life is long whiche lothsomely doeth laste The dolfull daies drawe slowly to their date The present panges and painfull plags forepast Yelds greffe aye grene to stablishe this estate So that I feele in this greate storme and strife That death is sweete that shorteneth suche a life And by the stroke of this straunge ouerthrowe All whiche conflict in thraldome I was thrust The Lorde be praised I am well taught to knowe From whens man came and eke whereto he must And by the waie vpon how feble force His terme doeth stande till death doeth ende his course The pleasant yeres that semes so swetely ronne The mery daies to ende so fast that flete The ioyfull wights of whiche daies dawes so sone The happie howrs whiche mo doe misse then mete Doe all consume as snowe against the Sonne And death maks ende of all that life begonne Since death shall dure till all the worlde be wast What meaneth man to dread death then so sore As man might make that life should alwaie last Without regard the Lorde hath ledde before The daunce of death whiche all must runne on rowe The hower wherein onely hymself doeth knowe If man would mynde what burdeins life doeth bryng
toyle the Seas Life ledd with losse of paines no lacke In stormes to winne muche restlesse case A bedlesse horde in seas vnrest Maie happ to hym that chaunseth best How sundrie sounds with lead and line Vnto the depe the shipman throwes No foote to spare he cries oft tymes No nere when how the master blowes If Neptune frown all be vndoen Strait waie the shipp the wrack hath won These daungers greate doe oft befall On those that there vpon the sande Iudge of their liues the best who shall How vile it is fewe vnderstande Alacke who then maie iudge their game Not thei whiche haue not felt the same But thei that fall in stormes and winde And daies and yeres haue spent therein Suche well may iudge since profe thei find In rage no rest till calme begin No more then those that loue doe faine Giue iudgement of true louers paine Finis W. H. No pleasure without some paine HOw can the tree but wast and wither awaie That hath not sometyme comfort of the Sonne How can that flower but fade and sone decaie That alwaies is with darke clouds ouer ronne Is this a life naie death you maie it call That feeles eche paine and knoweth no ioye at all What foodles beast can liue long in good plight Or is it life where sences there be none Or what auaileth eyes without their light Or els a tonge to hym that is alone Is this a life naie death you maie it call That feeles eche paine and knowes no ioye at all Whereto serue eares if that there be no sounde Or suche a head where no deuise doeth growe But all of plaints since sorrowe is the grounde Whereby the harte doeth pine in deadly woe Is this a life naie death you maie it call That feeles eche paine and knows no ioye at all Finis L. Vaux ¶ The fruites of fained frendes IN choise of frends what happy had I to chuse one of Cirenes kinde Whose harpe whose pipe whose melodie could feede my eares make me blinde Whose pleasant noise made me forget that in sure trust was great deceit In trust I see is treason founde and man to man deceitfull is And whereas Treasure doeth abounde of flatterers there doe not misse Whose painted speache and outward showe doe seme as frends and be not so Would I haue thought in thee to be the nature of the Crokadill Whiche if a man a slepe maie see with bloudy thirst desires to kill And then with teares a while gan wepe the death of hym thus slaine a slepe O flatterer false thou traitor borne what mischief more might thou deuise Then thy deare frende to haue in scorne and hym to wounde in sondrie wise Whiche still a frende pretends to be and art not so by profe I se Fie fie vpon suche trechery Finis W. H. Beyng importunate at the length he obtaineth A. SHall I no waie winne you to graunt my desire B. What woman will graunt you the thyng you require A. You onely to loue me is all that craue B. You onely to leaue me is all I would haue A. My deare alas now saie not so B. To loue you best I must saie no A. Yet will I not flitt B. then plaie on the bitt A. I will B. doe still A. yet kill not B. I will not A. Make me your man B. beshrewe me than A. The swifter I followe then you fly awaie B. Swift hauks in their fliyng oft times misse their pray A. Yet some killeth dedly that flie to the marke B. You shall touche no feather thereof take no carke A. Yet hope shall further my desire B. You blowe the coales and raise no fire A. Yet will I not flitt B. then plaie on the bitt A. I will B. doe still A. yet kill not B. I will not A. Make me your man B. beshrewe me than A. To loue is no daunger where true loue is ment B. I will loue no ranger lest that I repent A. My loue is no ranger I make God auow B. To trust your smoth saiyngs I sure knowe not how A. Moste truthe I meane as tyme shall well trie B. No truthe in men I oft espie A Yet will I not flitt B. then plaie on the bitt A. I will B. doe still A. yet kill not B. I will not A. Make me your man B. Be shrewe me than A. Some women maie saie naie and meane loue moste true B. Some women can make fools of as wise men as you A. In tyme I shall catche you I knowe when and where B. I will sone dispatche you you shall not come there A. Some speds at length that oft haue mist B. I am well armed come when you list A. Yet will I not flitt B. then plaie on the bitt A. I will B. doe still A. yet kill not B. I will not A. Make me your man B. beshrewe me than A. Yet worke your kinde kindly graunt me loue for loue B. I will vse you frendly as I shall you proue A. Moste close you shall finde me I this doe protest B. Then sure you shall binde me to graunt your request A. O happie threde now haue I sponne B. You syng before the conquest wonne A. Why then will you swarne B. euen as you deserue A. Loue still B. I will A. yet kill not B. I will not A. Make me your man B. come to me than Finis M. B. ¶ Requiryng the fauour of his loue She aunswereth thus M. WHat death maie be compared to loue H. What grief therein now doest thou proue M. My paines alas who can expresse H. I see no cause of heauinesse M. My Ladies looks my wo hath wrought H. Then blame thyne eyes that first haue sought M. I burne alas and blowe the fire H. A foole consumes by his desire M. What shall I do than H come out and thou can H. Alas I die M. what remedie M. My sugred sweete is mixed with gall H. Thy Ladie can not doe with all M. The more I seeke the lesse I finde H. Then striue not with the streame and winde M. Her must I loue although I smarte H. With thy owne sworde thou slaiest thy harte M. Suche pleasaunt baites who can refraine H. Suche beats will sure brede the greate paine M. What shal I do than H. Come out and thou can H. Alas I die M. what remedie M. Her golden beames myne eyes doe daze H. Vpon the Sonne thou maiest not gaze M. She might reward my cruell smarte H. She thinks thou bearest a fained harte M. She laughs to heare my wofull cries H. Forsake her then in tyme be wise M. No no alas that maie not bee H. No wise man then will pitie thee M. What shall I do than H. come out and thou can M. Alas I die H. what remedie M. A liuyng death loe thus I proue H. Suche are the fruts of froward loue M. O that I might her loue once againe H. Thy gaine would not halfe quite the paine M. Her
will I loue though she be coye H. A foole hym self will still anoye M. Who will not die for suche a one H. Be wise at length let her alone M. I can not doe so H. then be thy owne foe M. Alas I die H. what remedie Finis E. S. ¶ A louers ioye I Haue no ioye but dreame of ioye and ioye to thinke on ioye A ioye I withstoode for to enioye to finishe myne anoye I hate not without cause alas yet loue I knowe not why I thought to hate I can not hate although that I should die A foe moste swete a frende moste sower I ioye for to embrace I hate the wrong and not the wight that workt my wofull case What thyng it is I knowe not I but yet a thyng there is That in my fancie still perswads there is no other blisse The ioyes of life the pangs of death it make me feele eche daie But life nor death this humour can deuise to weare awaie Faine would I dye but yet in death no hope I see remaines And shall I liue since life I see a sourse of sorie paines What is it then that I doe seke what ioye would I aspire A thyng that is deuine belike to high for mans desire Finis FK ¶ The iudgement of desire THe liuely Larke did stretche her wyng The messenger of mornyng bright And with her cherefull voyce did syng The daies approche dischargyng night When that Aurora blushyng redd Discride the gilt of Thetis bedd Laradon tan tan Tedriton teight I went abroad to take the aire And in the meadds I mett a knight Clad in carnation colour faire I did salute the youthfull wight Of hym I did his name enquire He sight and saied I am desire Laradon tan tan Tedriton teight Desire I did desire to staie A while with hym I craued talke The courteous wight saied me no naie But hande in hande with me did walke Then in desire I askte againe What thing did please and what did pain Laradon tan tan He smild and thus he answered me Desire can haue no greater paine Then for to see an other man The thyng desired to obtaine No ioye no greater to then this Then to inioye what others misse Laridon tan tan Finis E. O. ¶ The complaint of a louer wearyng Blacke and Tawnie. A Croune of Bayes shall that man weare That triumphs ouer me For blacke and Tawnie will I weare Whiche mournyng colours be The more I folowed on the more she fled awaie As Daphne did full long agone Apollos wishfull praie The more my plaints resounde the lesse she pities me The more I saught the lesse I founde that myne she ment to be Melpomeney alas with dolefull tunes helpe than And syng bis wo worthe on me â–ª forsaken man Then Daphnes baies shal that man weare that triumphs ouer me For Blacke Taunie will I weare which monrnyng colours be Droune me you tricklyng teares you wailefull wights of woe Come help these haÌ„ds to reÌ„t my heares my rufull happs to showe On whom the scorchyng flames of loue doeth feede you se Ah a lalalantida my deare dame hath thus tormented me Wherefore you Muses nine with dolefull tunes helpe than And syng Bis wo worthe on me forsaken man Then Daphnes Baies shall that man weare that triumps euer me For Blacke Taunie will I weare which mourning colours be An Ancres life to leade with nailes to scratche my graue Where earthly Wormes on me shall fede is all the ioyes I craue And hid my self from shame sith that myne eyes doe see Ah a alantida my deare dame hath thus tormented me And all that present be with dolefull tunes helpe than And syng Bis woe worthe on me forsaken man. Finis E.O. ¶ He complaineth thus LO heare the man that must of loue complaine Lo heare that seas that feeles no kinde of blisse Lo here I seke for ioye and finde but paine Lo what despite can greater be then this To freze to death and stande yet by the fire And she that shonneth me moste I doe desire L. But shall I speake alas or shall I die A. By death no helpe in speache some helpe doeth lie L. Then from that breast remoue a Marble minde A. As I see cause so are ye like to finde L. I yelde my self what would you more of me A. You yelde but for to winne and conquer me L. Saâ—e and kill not madame A. Forsake your sute for shame No no no no not so O happie man now vaunt thy self That hath this conquest gainde And now doeth liue in greate delight That was so lately painde Triumph triumph triumph wholouers be Thrise happie is that woyng That is not long a doyng Triumph triumph triumph that hath like victorie Finis ¶ Findyng no relief he complaineth thus IN quest of my relief I finde distresse In recompence of loue moste depe disdaine My langour is suche words maie not expresse A shower of teares my watrishe eye doeth raine I dreame of this and doe deuine of wo I wander in the thoughts of my swete fo I would no peace the cause of warre I flie I hope I feare I burne I chill in froste I lye alowe yet mounts my minde on hie Thus doubtfull stormes my troubled thoughts haue toste And for my paine this pleasure doe I proue I hate my self and pine in others loue The worlde I graspe yet holde I nought at all At libertie I seme in prison pent I taste the sweete more lower then bitter gall My shipp semes sounde and yet her ribbs be rent And out alas on Fortune false I crie Looke what I craue that still she doeth denie Bothe life and death be equall vnto me I doe desire to die yet craue I life My witts with sondrie thoughts doe disagre My self am with my self at mortall strife As warmth of sonne doeth melte the siluer Snowe The heate of loue beholde consumes me so Finis R.H. ¶ Beyng in loue he complaineth VVHat dome is this I faine would knowe That demeth all by contraries What God or whether height or lowe Now would I learne some warrantise Some saie the blinded God aboue Is he that woorketh all by loue But he that stirreth strife the truthe to tell I alwaies feele but knowe not well Some saie Alecto with her mates Are thei whiche breedeth all anoye Who sitts like Haggs in hellishe gates And seeks still whom thei maie destroye Some saie againe t is destinie But how it comes or what it is I let it passe before I misse Despite doeth alwaies worke my wo And happ as yet holds hardly still For feare I set my frendshipp so And thinke againe to reape good will. I doe but striue against the winde For more I seeke the lesse I finde And where I seeke moste for to please There finde I alwaies my desease And thus I loue and doe reape still Nothyng but hate for my good will. Finis L. V. A louer disdained complaineth IF euer man had loue to